


Blood On My Hands

by JollyJameson



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-13 09:04:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/822509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JollyJameson/pseuds/JollyJameson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Edward commits his first murder. Batman is not happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood On My Hands

**Author's Note:**

> This was written while I was in hospital with some medicine still in my system and I can’t be bothered to edit it. It’s bad, ooc and I don’t even know why I’m posting it now.

It's dark. It shouldn't be, really. It should be gloomy at most; Gotham City did not sleep. The lights remained on all night, the brightly colored signs on the shops, the streetlamps, the headlights of countless cars. No, a night in Gotham City should not be dark, nor should it be silent.

But here, so far back in the Narrows, in an alleyway so forgotten not even the homeless come to sleep in the piles of trash, the night did not seem to care about what should be. Darkness, thick and black, filled the narrow passage. The silence was broken by sharp, ragged gasps. A person stumbled down the alley, so out of breath it's a wonder he was still standing. And really, a moment later, he slumped against the wall, shaking. A green bowler hat, adorned with a question mark, rolled across the ground and came to rest next to a pile of trash.

The man stepped over to retrieve it, still fighting for breath. He was recovering though, and when his hands - wearing fingerless gloves - closed around the hat, his gasps had calmed somewhat. Just then, a rustle and a dull thump sounded. He freezes, eyes squeezed shut and his jaw clenched.

There is a moment of silence, broken by the first one's still slightly labored and the newcomer's calm breathing. The former braces himself and then a hand grabs the back of his jacket - green like the bowler - and smashes him face-first into the wall. What little breath he has re-gained is knocked from his body.

He squirms, but it is more for show than anything.

"Riddler."

His title is spoken in a dark growl, rough with barely restrained anger.

"And here I thought I lost you about ten blocks back," the green clad man shoots back, forcing his fear back. Batman growls again, not even bothering to talk now as he yanks Riddler back only to smash him back into the wall a moment later.

Edward flinches at the sensation of the unforgiving stone rubbing open his skin, but his tone remains cocky as ever: "You wouldn't break your first rule for me, would you?"

A hand yanks his arm up behind his back, brutally, until the smirk is replaced with a pained grimace.

"Murder is not your style, Nigma."

This is stated calmly, the underlying rage clear but carefully kept in check. Somehow, this is even more frightening than shouting. A shiver shakes the Riddler's frame.

"There is a first time for everything," he replies and has his arm twisted in return. He bites his lower lip, but the pained groan escapes anyway. He knows better than to struggle.   
He means what he said, though in this particular case, he would be lying if he said he liked it. Murder wasn't his style, Batman got that one right.   
Not that he would say so.

"Times change," he adds, tugging on the hand around his lower arm carefully. The grip tightens well past the limit of pain and Edward feels the color drain from his face. "I'm sure we can work something out," he says quickly.

The hand loosens, just barely. The Riddler twists, using what strength his body possesses to get free. For a few heartbeats, it seems like he succeeds, but before he can feel any relief, a crack sounds and white hot pain is searing up his arm. He is flung to the side and against a group of trash cans. His body slumps, dark spots appearing in his vision.

"Riddle me this: What is red and holding life?," he mutters to himself when he feels a warm, wet trickle down his face. A shadow falls across him and while he still struggles to focus, the Batman has grabbed him by the front of his suit. He squirms again when he is brought up to face the vigilante.

"You are going back to Arkham."

A simple statement, an excpected one, but the response it creates is extreme. Edward Nigma twists and kicks wildly. One foot catches Batman in the stomach and though the Kevlar sends stabs of pain up his leg, it is enough of a surprise to make the hero drop him.

Another flurry of spots explodes behind his eyes as he lands on his broken arm and struggles to his feet. Then he's running - stumbling - down the alleyway as quick as he can in the darkness and the trash strewn over the ground.

He gets about three meters before a heavy weight slams down on the back of his shoulders and sends him smacking into the ground. A hand grabs him by the back of his collar. Edward slumps, his superior intellect telling him that any further attempts at fleeing will only enrage his enemy further. As desperate as he is to escape, not to go back to Arkham, he knows that he has to wait, at least until the first numbness of the broken bone sets in. If he can keep the vigilante talking...

"What travels the world, but stays in a corner?," he asks, the first thing coming to mind. Batman doesn't respond. He dumps the Riddler on the floor and places a foot on the small of his back to keep him down before he can do as much as lift a finger. He kneels and the corner of the black cape swings into Edward's vision.

The familiar sound of handcuffs, then more pain in his injured arm when the vigilante secures his hands tightly behind the defeated villain's back. He is lifted up again and none to gently thrown over Batman's shoulder.

"Riddle me this: A hull like marble white, a skin like silk, in the clear flood lies my golden heart, I have neither door nor porch, yet everyone break-"

"Quiet," Batman commands and his shoulder digs into Edward's stomach. The villain starts a final attempt at resistance, wriggling and trying to bite the part of the Bat's face that is not protected by the cowl. He stops once he sees Batman raise his fist. At least he doesn't strike him.

Though that probably owes that to the fact they reached the Batmobile. Or Tumbler. Edward prefers to call it Batmobile, it fits the vigilante far better.

None to gently, he is tossed into the passenger seat and strapped down. The Riddler tugs on the bonds, once, twice, and decides that he is in enough pain without provoking another attack. His broken arm is trapped between his body and the seat.

"Batman...," he starts in a whining tone, but he can't say he knows what he wants to say. He gets a growl in response. The pain has started to make his mind fuzzy.

No one is more surprised than Edward at how clear the next part leaves his mouth: "I understand that you wish to restrain me, but I don't see any necessity to keep my injured arm aggravated like this."

He gets another growl. Really, is that all the bat-brain can do?! Even someone below Nigma's level of intellect should be able to process such a clear statement!

Eventually, the Bat leans forward, grabs his shirt and jerks his captive - oh, how Edward hates that word in reference to himself - forward. The handcuffs snap open.

"Don't try anything."

Even without an added threat, Edward knows that he really doesn't want to try anything. He brings his arms to the front in a deliberately slow way to make sure it is obvious that he isn't making an escape attempt.

The door slams shut and Batman sits in the driver's seat. They drive in silence, the Riddler still busy with trying to focus through the haze of pain and exhaustion.

"That was your first murder."

He doesn't object to Batman's words. They are correct anyway. The silence resumes until Arkham comes into view on the horizon.

"If it's of any consolation," his words are laced with more arrogant sarcasm than he believed himself to be able to have at the moment, "I don't plan on making it a habit. The world will know my name for my intellect, not a body count."

The Batman takes his eyes off the road for a moment to glance at Edward with a look that clearly expresses disbelief. He is also fairly certain that it contains the unspoken question of 'Why did you kill in the first place, then?'.

"I felt like some people needed a reminder that I, the Riddler, am to be taken seriously. And besides," he adds, his mind clearing a bit now, "if they were smarter - or in this case, quicker - they wouldn't be dead anyway."

This earns him a glare. The Batmobile screeches to a halt. Edward feels his stomach drop. He isn't going to beg, definitely not, the Riddler does not beg, but his expression clearly shows how unhappy he is.

Batman drags him out of the car; thankfully he is holding the un-injured arm his vice-like grip. A few doctors, nurses and orderlies are already awaiting them. Edward scowls at them, but under Batman's glare he doesn't dare to attempt an escape. The vigilante exchanges a few words with the staff before the group escorts him in.

He wonders, briefly, why. It's an easy riddle to solve though: Murder. That's why. He, Edward Nigma, has murder added to his charges and Batman, worried for the doctors and nurses, won't leave them alone with a killer.

Edward zooms out during the check in routine, cocky responses given automatically, and allows the Arkham staff to treat his broken arm. With his arm in a cast and wearing the standard jump suit again, he is finally back in his cell. He notices the extra guard and relates his presence to his latest crime.

As he sits back on his bed, eyes on the plexiglass front of his cell, he can't help but put his signature grin back in place. What, after all, is another crime on the list of his offenses, anyway? 


End file.
